Baker Street
by sturms.sun.shattered
Summary: Modern AU: ' "Your birthday always turns into a debacle," Thorin observed. "I've had a few good ones," said Dwalin, taking a swig of his drink. ' Dwalin and Thorin recall a birthday as the radio plays on.


**To my friend and frequent beta TFS, on the occasion of his birthday.**

**Takes place in the _Hostile Takeover_ universe, can be read as a stand alone. **

**Named for the song _Baker Street_ by Gerry Raffery. Also features _Sultans of Swing _by Dire Straights and _Werewolves of London_ by Warren Zevon. I don't own these songs or anything that Tolkien wrote, I am not making a profit.**

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**27 October 2008**

Thorin sat at his desk, wrapping up the staff meeting. Dwalin stood behind Thorin, leaning against the window-ledge, his arms crossed over his chest. The grey afternoon light filtered weakly into the office; Dwalin knew that Thorin hated having the florescent lights on if he could avoid it. It did make it difficult to really take in the expressions of the group—Dwalin always blamed the light, refusing to believe that his eyesight could be anything less than 20/20—but he imagined that he knew how the staff were responding to the meeting.

The last Monday of every month was spent similarly: the staff would all be in for the day, working at their regular tasks. In the afternoon Dwalin or Thorin would go out and get doughnuts and coffee for the staff, and they would go over issues in their respective areas. Glóin would complain almost endlessly, as he had for the last seven years. Nori would sit back in his seat, arms crossed, answering only the questions that Thorin posed, ever guarded. Bofur would sometimes shoot a warning glance at Nori, but would cheerfully declare that he had no complaints and offer new branding ideas. Bombur let Dwalin do most of the speaking for the metalworking department, but would nod along his agreement, and remind them when the van needed an oil change. Ori, their newest hire, was a recent art-school graduate. He would sit quietly, shielded from the conversation by Bombur's bulk, and never complained. Fíli and Kíli, both in secondary school, would usually interrupt the meetings with their arrival. Kíli would boisterously join in the conversation. Fíli would stand in the office doorway, peeking into the shop in case there were customers to be taken care of.

As this meeting wrapped up, Kíli's face split with a devious smile. At fifteen he was already taller than his brother, but skinny in spite of his inclination to eat a whole pizza and still complain of hunger. He was staring impishly at Dwalin.

"Heard it's your birthday, Dwalin," Kíli said, as the co-workers began to rise and return their chairs to the tables.

"Where would you hear that?" grumbled Dwalin fondly.

Kíli shrugged.

"I'm right aren't I? How old are you, Dwalin?" he prodded with a shit-eating grin.

"None of your business," Dwalin said, catching Kíli in a headlock and messing up his hair.

Glóin spun on his seat.

"Fifty," said the accountant.

"Half-century," said Bofur, "Happy Birthday!"

"What are you doing for it, then?" asked Bombur.

"Hadn't thought about it," Dwalin shrugged.

"What say we run up at tab at The Pony?" Bofur suggested.

Dwalin tried very hard to hide his smile as the employees chorused their agreement. Glóin's cheer in particular broke through the din. Thorin's face was impassive, but for his eyes, which shared the good-humour of the rest. Perhaps he was merely glad that he had the good sense not to come in to work on his fiftieth birthday a few months earlier.

"What the hell, let's go!" Dwalin agreed.

"Can we come, then?" Kíli asked Thorin.

"It's not worth your mother's wrath," Thorin said drily.

"She won't get mad at us," Kíli scoffed.

"Don't think it's us he's worried about," Fíli said, glancing at his uncle.

"She'll be here to pick them up soon anyway. Maybe we should invite her along," said Dwalin.

"If you think she'll come out on a Monday night," said Thorin.

"You're right," Dwalin agreed.

Dís would never agree to a pub on a Monday night. Kíli looked dejected, and even Fíli looked a touch disappointed that Kíli had lost the battle.

"Bad luck, lads," Dwalin said, as they filed out of the building.

Dwalin had been right, and Dís was already parked in front of the shop. She shouted her birthday wishes with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. Dwalin had the urge to rush to her and shut her smart-mouth with a kiss. One glance at the people milling around parking lot refined his brief fantasy into a wave. He noted Thorin's eyes, lingering suspiciously on him. The group began to shuffle across the street to the pub. Ori looked as though he was heading to the bus but Bofur grabbed him by the elbow.

"You're coming with us," Bofur said.

"I dunno…I mean I'm not…"

Bofur waved off the young man's excuses, wrapping an arm around Ori's shoulders and jovially directing him to the wood-panelled interior of the pub. The group entered the pub, mostly empty but for a grizzled old man sitting at the bar and two younger men and a woman from the travel agency a few doors down. The three were chatting at a wooden booth near the front of the pub, going over what appeared to be several files. One of them men seemed to glare at the group, and Dwalin saw the look was directed at Nori. Nori staunchly ignored him and headed for the dartboard near the back table where the group was settling.

"What d'you think his problem is?" Dwalin asked Thorin quietly, glancing over at the front table.

"Not sure I care to find out," Thorin said, absently flipping over a paper coaster.

The barkeeper, a man in his early sixties with mutton chops, took orders and briefly returned with pitchers and several shots of low-grade whiskey. Dwalin could see that Thorin was restraining himself as Dwalin started the round of shots.

"Just say it," Dwalin said.

"You don't think you're a bit old for that?"

"Just because your fiftieth birthday was that of an old man doesn't mean mine should be."

"Should yours really be that of a twenty-year-old?" Thorin asked.

Dwalin scoffed.

Glóin had joined Nori at the dartboard and the two were currently engaged in a match to see who would buy the next pint. Bofur and Bombur were playing pool. Ori watched them awkwardly from the other side of the pool table, clearly uncomfortable to be out with his co-workers, staying away from his bosses in particular.

"Fifty's not such a big deal, right? We should be happy," said Dwalin.

Thorin nodded, though he did not particularly happy himself. Dwalin followed his gaze to where Glóin was gloating his victory. Nori looked impassive as always but muttered something and shoved past Glóin.

"Sneak like you says he's taking a piss and jumps out the window to avoid his debt," Glóin taunted him.

"You'll get your pint, Glóin. I'm not that petty," Nori said flatly, ducking into the men's room.

"He's not is he?" Glóin confirmed with Ori.

"Hard to say," Ori shrugged.

As it turned out, Nori was perfectly willing to buy Glóin his pint. He was stopped, however, on his way back to the group. The young man who had initially had a problem with Nori had stood up to confront him. Thorin tapped on the table in front of Dwalin to get his attention and the two stood.

"Look, mate. I don't know you," said Nori, his hands in his pockets.

"I know _you_, you fucking cock-sucker!" he said, grabbing Nori's collar.

Nori grappled the young man off of him just as Bofur stepped in. He stood in front of Nori, his hands at chest-level.

"Easy now, lads. No reason to insult the people who like sucking cocks by comparing them to him," Bofur said, jerking his head at Nori.

"Is that what this is?" the young man said hostilely, though he looked disarmed at Bofur's bizarre interference.

"Piss off, Bofur," Nori warned.

The instigator still looked thrown as Thorin and Dwalin stepped in beside Nori. He seemed particularly wary of Dwalin as he took in his muscled forearms and tattoos that disappeared beyond his shirtsleeves. He took a step back.

"Sit down and drink your beer, lad," Dwalin warned.

The young man and his companions shot Nori and dirty look, and Bofur instinctively caught Nori by the collar as he tried to step by him. The travel agents dropped some cash on the table and left.

"Another time then," the young man said hostilely, as he exited.

"This is why we don't go nice places," said Dwalin, shaking his head at Nori.

Nori shot Dwalin a dark look. Thorin and Dwalin returned to their seats and Bofur released Nori and pulled something from his hand.

"Seriously?" Bofur hissed, staring at the spring-assist knife he had confiscated.

"Assholes like that looking for me," said Nori, snatching it back.

"You get arrested again and I swear I will _not_ help you," Bofur said, walking back to the group.

Nori did not even look back as he left the pub.

"I knew he wouldn't get me that pint," Glóin grumbled.

Ori looked ashamed, his face red and downcast. The cheer of the evening spoiled, Glóin declared his intent to leave and the others followed, paying up their tabs.

"Who's got Nori's?" Glóin said, eyeing Ori.

"I've got it," Bofur stepped in.

Glóin filed out, and Bombur looked at Ori and back at his brother. Bofur stepped up to the two after taking care of the tab.

"C'mon, Ori," he said, "Going to your side of town anyway, I'll give you a lift."

Thorin and Dwalin sat back in their seats, half-listening to the satellite radio that played in the establishment. Dwalin was pleased that it was tuned to a classic rock station. The beginnings of a song that always reminded Dwalin of rainy nights in the city unwound from the speakers.

"Your birthday always turns into a debacle," Thorin observed.

"I've had a few good ones," said Dwalin, taking a swig of his beer.

The two sat in amicable silence as the song's iconic saxophone riff rent the air.

_Winding you way down on Baker Street. _

_Light on your head and dead on your feet_

**27 October 1978**

_It's another crazy day_

_You'll drink the night away_

_And forget about everything_

Dwalin drove back to the apartment in the golden light of the dying afternoon. Dunland in the autumn was a beautiful sight, even if he had spent most of the day welding in the shop. Nothing could spoil his mood today. He took the stairs two at a time and unlocked the door to the apartment he shared with Thorin. Seeing Thorin's bedroom door open a crack put a damper on his cheer.

"Thorin?" he called cautiously, before stepping in.

"Don't you knock?"

Thorin was lying on top of his rumpled sheets, his head hanging off of the side of the bed. The notes of the saxophone from the 45 spinning on the record player brought Dwalin's mind to city lights reflecting off of wet pavement. Thorin glanced at him dully from his almost upside-down position.

"You're not still on about that girl?" Dwalin pressed.

"You took my car," Thorin evaded.

"Did you get a 'D' on your essay? You must've. That's why you forgot we're going out tonight."

"Dwalin, you took my car," Thorin said.

"Right and I filled the tank on my way home. Why are you moping about?"

"You didn't ask to take it."

"You were asleep. Stop avoiding my questions!" snapped Dwalin.

"I'm not moping," Thorin said, rolling off of the bed and standing.

"You have been all week," Dwalin said.

Thorin stalked past him into the avocado green refrigerator, which he opened and stared into, before sighing and closing it. He shot Dwalin a dark look when he entered the kitchen.

"What?" Dwalin said, opening the fridge and peering inside.

"Forget it."

"Oh, you're sad because you got her some Wink and she left it," Dwalin said, looking at the green glass bottles.

"No. I just don't drink grapefruit flavour…I mean really, what are we going to do with that?" Thorin rambled.

Dwalin slammed the fridge door.

"Get over it," Dwalin said.

"I am; it's fine. You want to just go out?"

"Why don't you just tell her that you're working for Erebor Mining Company when you graduate. Tell her who your family is," said Dwalin incredulously.

"What?"

"She'll be back in your bed before you can blink."

"She wouldn't be impressed by that," said Thorin.

"Well then, let's go out, you can tell some other birds. Get some poon; get over it."

"Fine," said Thorin, taking the car keys from Dwalin.

oOo

_And a crowd of young boys, they're fooling around in the corner_

_Drunk and dressed in their best brown baggies and their platform soles_

_They don't give a damn about any trumpet playing band_

_It ain't what they call rock and roll_

The warm bluesy riffs and light drumming from a new release cut through the crowd of the pool hall that Dwalin had insisted they visit.

"Isn't this better?" Dwalin said.

Thorin took in the patrons of the smoky hall, lighting his cigarette before picking up a cue.

"I don't think you're going to find girls in here," said Thorin.

Dwalin broke and picked up his beer bottle from the edge of the pool table. Thorin took up his cue, aiming at the ball by the corner-pocket. His cigarette scattered some ash on the green felt, but he noted the older burn-marks; his was not the first.

"Well it's early still," Dwalin shrugged.

"This place is a shit-hole," Thorin said under his breath.

"It's _my_ birthday," Dwalin reminded him.

They played a few more rounds, Dwalin finishing several beers and Thorin miserably nursing his one. Thorin was afraid of what horrible heartbrokenness might come spilling forth if he became too intoxicated. He certainly did not want to confide this in a drunken Dwalin on his twentieth birthday. Such a landmark date for Dwalin should not be marred by his friend's unhappiness.

Over the next few hours Dwalin insisted they drink one beer from each pub on the street. Thorin had stopped after the first pub. As Dwalin became drunker, Thorin was able to fool him into thinking that he was matching him drink-for-drink by having a few sips and topping up Dwalin's glass from his own glass when his friend was not looking. Thorin was both amazed and—though he would not admit it—a little jealous by the amount that it took to get Dwalin drunk.

Dwalin stumbled out of the last bar in an uproariously good mood. He staggered into Thorin as they made their way back down the street to Thorin's Vauxhall Firenza. Thorin lit a cigarette and passed one to Dwalin. Dwalin struggled to light it. Thorin took the lighter from him.

"Look what you're doing, Dwalin. You're trying to light the filter," Thorin said.

Dwalin turned the cigarette around and Thorin held out the lighter for him. Dwalin stopped—lit cigarette in hand—and pointed ahead. Thorin froze, his eyes on the couple ahead of them.

"Isn't that your girl with that bastard from first-year?" Dwalin exclaimed.

"Yup," Thorin said, his heart pounding in his ears.

He realised his hands were shaking a little and clenched them and swallowed, trying to quell the awful feeling of hot contempt in his throat. He took a steadying breath and Dwalin struck him—a little too forcefully—on the arm.

"You should hit him," Dwalin said.

"I want to," Thorin said flatly.

"Asshole took your girlfriend!"

"Dwalin, you're drunk. I'm not going to hit him."

"I'll hit him," said Dwalin, striding forward.

Thorin grabbed Dwalin's elbow and pulled him back. Dwalin staggered and dropped his cigarette.

"Look what you made me do," he complained.

"Yeah, he probably could have knocked you down with his pinkie. You're smashed."

"I have to piss," said Dwalin, before he disappeared down an alley.

Thorin made a noise of annoyance, hesitant to follow Dwalin. His hesitation cost him, as the couple approached him on the sidewalk.

"Oh…Thorin," she said, clearly surprised to see him.

"Lisa," he said stiffly.

"I just…Steve, you know Steve."

"Yes," said Thorin, a plastic smile on his face.

"Well…um, we'll see you then," said Lisa, tugging on Steve's arm.

They left Thorin standing stupidly in front of the alley. He leaned back against the brick wall of the post office dejectedly. Less than a week, and she was already with someone else. Thorin sighed and lit another cigarette, wondering why Dwalin had not returned. Remembering the time he had found his friend passed out beside the school fountain, Thorin trekked down the alley. Dwalin was nowhere to be found, but a feral cat skirting behind a bin gave Thorin an unreasonable fright.

"Dwalin?" Thorin called, as he reached the end of the alley.

Looking up and down the seedier backstreet, Thorin saw no sign of his friend. He irately paced up and back down the street. Finding nothing, Thorin decided that Dwalin may have doubled back to the car, and he took the long way around the block back to the burnt orange Firenza. After about twenty minutes Thorin gave up waiting and got in the car, hoping a drive around the block might help him find Dwalin. With no further clues, Thorin parked in front of a closed storefront and listened to the radio, his anger with Dwalin increasing with each passing song.

_I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's_

_His hair was perfect_

Thorin forcefully flicked off the radio, halting the bright honky-tonk piano, when he saw a figure stumbling down the street. Getting out of the car, he saw it was indeed Dwalin. Dwalin's mood soared, and one look at the happy face of his friend fanned Thorin's annoyance.

"Hey!" said Dwalin jovially

"Dwalin! What the hell! Get in the car!" Thorin snapped, opening the passenger-side door.

"You're just like my brother," complained Dwalin.

"Yeah, well I can see why he yells at you, you complete jackass! Where did you go?" Thorin ranted, starting the car.

"I got another drink."

"What happened to your arm?" Thorin asked, noting the rolled-up sleeve and gauze wrapping on Dwalin's wrist.

"Oh!" said Dwalin excitedly, unwrapping it.

"What are you showing me?" Thorin asked, focusing on the street to avoid hitting drunken students.

"I got at tattoo; birthday present for myself," he said.

Thorin glanced at it in the near dark.

"It's just lines. You don't think you'll regret that when you're sober?"

"You're being an ass!" Dwalin accused, tugging on the door handle.

"Dwalin, don't get out the car when I'm driving for fuck's sake. I'm sorry, alright?"

"I didn't even want to be friends with you in school," Dwalin said darkly.

"You're drunk, stop talking before you say something you regret."

"You're drunk too! How are you not?!"

"You drank ninety percent of my beer."

"That explains it…"

"We're going home now."

"Just like my father…" muttered Dwalin.

"Alright, now you're just complaining for the hell of it."

"He's going to hate this," Dwalin said, smiling wickedly at his tattoo.

"Oh, it's the _father_ ramble tonight…"

"I don't think he is my father. I think I'm the bastard son of the milkman."

"What?" Thorin laughed.

"It's not funny! He likes Balin much better…because Balin's in law school and Balin didn't drop out of uni…"

"Why _did_ you drop out? It's not like you did poorly," said Thorin.

"I hate it. Everyone wants me to be all…scholarly…I hate the people, I hate the place…"

"You said you didn't want to be friends with me, and you hate uni, why are you still in Dunland? Why not go back to Ered Luin?"

Thorin knew it was unfair to pick at Dwalin while he was drunk, but Dwalin had set him over the edge several times that week.

"I like being with you now."

"So you didn't when we were at school?"

"My father told me I had to because he worked at Erebor. You're too proper. Ponce."

"Hm."

Thorin parked behind their apartment building and directed Dwalin up the stairs. On the second landing they came across Jim, a student they had met in their first year. He invited them into his apartment where several young men and women were milling about, some very high. Dwalin sat down on the floor, his back against the sofa.

"It's your birthday, Dwalin? We made special brownies…" said Jim.

"Don't give him any of those…" said Thorin, passing the plate above Dwalin's head.

"Might calm him down," said Jim.

"I hate High Dwalin."

"Thorin, you're a prick," said Dwalin, disappearing down the hallway.

"I'm not overly fond of Drunk Dwalin, either," Thorin told Jim.

"Why are you so sober?" asked Jim.

"He drank all my beer," Thorin said drily.

Thorin and Jim continued to talk for a while, Thorin working on a beer that Jim offered him. As he got down to the end of the bottle Thorin wondered what became of Dwalin. He stood and found Dwalin passed out in front of a bedroom door wearing nothing but a bed sheet. Thorin nudged him with his foot.

"Dwalin?"

"What?"

"Where are your clothes?"

Dwalin just smiled. Thorin sighed and took his arm, pulling him off of the floor and promising to return Jim's bed sheet. They made their way up one more flight of stairs to their apartment.

"I lost my clothes to some bird in the bedroom," Dwalin drawled.

"I'm so glad you found what you were looking for," Thorin said sarcastically.

"I found a toga."

"So…you appalled her with your nudity…"

"I'm not appalling."

Thorin pushed open the apartment door and Dwalin stumbled into the bathroom. The sound of crashing shampoo bottles, the popping of shower-curtain clips, and Dwalin's cursing followed. Thorin ignored him, having had more than enough of Drunk Dwalin for one night. He closed himself in his own bedroom and moved the needle onto the 45. He flicked off the lamp and pulled the covers on his bed up to his chest, feeling empty for all of the escapades of the evening.

_You used to think that it was so easy_

_You used to say that it was so easy_

_But you're trying, you're trying now_

_Another year and then you'd be happy_

_Just one more year and then you'd be happy_

_But you're crying, you're crying now_

**28 October 2008**

"Well this looks familiar," said Thorin, flicking on his bathroom light.

Dwalin shielded his eyes from the florescent light. His head was pounding from the intoxication of the night before and his body ached from having fallen asleep in Thorin's empty bathtub. He felt tangled in the jacket he had not even taken off the night before.

"No toga this time," Dwalin joked.

"It wasn't a toga thirty years ago," said Thorin, the beginnings of a smile playing at his lips.

"What do you want?"

"To use my shower before work."

"I'm calling in sick," Dwalin said.

"Thought you might," said Thorin, grasping Dwalin's tattooed hand and pulling him out of the bathtub.

Dwalin stumbled into Thorin's office and pulled a comforter from the closet—something worn and covered with Mickey Mouse animations. It was undoubtedly an artefact from Fíli and Kíli's childhood. Dwalin flicked on the radio above the desk before collapsing onto the futon and closing his eyes. His hung-over mind took in the song on the edge of his consciousness.

_But you know he'll always keep moving_

_You know he's never gonna stop moving_

_'Cause he's rolling, he's the rolling stone_

_And when you wake up, it's a new morning_

_The sun is shining, it's a new morning_

_And you're going, you're going home_

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**Thanks for reading! Please review!**


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